


Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps)

by angelofmisfortune



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, DidIMentionILoveGhosts, F/M, For The First 6 Chapters Anyway, Minor Canonical Character(s), Probably Way Too Many Chapters, Psychic Reader, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, So Cas' Wings Are Ok~, Tags Are Hard, The Fall Never Happened, There's Some Angels And Reapers I Made Up, mediums and stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-09-23 09:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17077478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelofmisfortune/pseuds/angelofmisfortune
Summary: A medium stumbles upon The Boys™  when they meet working on the same case. She reluctantly tags along with Sam, Dean, and Castiel upon realising there are simply some ghosts she can't handle alone. Between cases pertaining to the usual ghouls and spookums, Team Free Will (plus you~) will have to thwart yet another near-apocalyptic event. This one features some pretty angry ghosts, a gigantic hole in the sky, and an angry, horned Goddess of Souls...-------This is a reader-insert fic, but because I dislike the whole "y/n" thing, Reader takes on an alias at some point. Also, character/tags may change. Will be updated hopefully once a week~.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks~!  
> There's a quick prologue here, but the actual story starts next chapter. Also, this isn't set at any particular time in the show and as such, I pull a myriad of characters from random times. Basically, I'm adding people as I see fit, so that list up above in the description isn't complete.

Metal creaks as the shower shuts off and a blonde woman steps out, wet feet disappearing into the plush fabric of the bathmat. Her humming drowns out the last few droplets of water that manage to escape the shower head and thud against the floor. The woman grabs a towel and wraps it around herself carefully before exiting the bathroom. She moves to the window, eyes following a few raindrops as they make their way down the glass. Somewhere downstairs, the door screeches open. 

“ _Front Door Open,”_ the alarm system chimes.

“…Honey?” she calls in response. She frowns at the lack of a reply and tries again, “Honey? You’re home early?” The lights in the bedroom flicker and the power surges with a loud _whoosh_. The woman crosses the room, grabs her robe, and pulls it on haphazardly as the lights click out, shrouding her in darkness. “You’re not funny,” she laughs. “I think a fuse blew.”

She squints through the dark and manages to guide herself to the dresser, setting her hands on anything that feels solid until she finds her phone. Heavy footsteps indicate someone heading upstairs. The bedroom door finally swings open. “I think a fuse blew,” she repeats. The woman finally manages to turn her flashlight on. She turns to point it towards the doorframe. “Here—!” 

A shadowy figure too short to be her husband hovers in the doorway. It promptly lets out a deafening, high-pitched scream that forces her to shield her ears. She scrambles backward and, in her haste, drops her phone. Flashes of white light blind her momentarily and she stumbles overthe ottoman at the end of the bed. Before she can tumble to the floor, she is flung across the room and into the wall. 

The woman screams to no avail as the figure drags her both down the stairs and out into the obsidian of the night. The open door swings in the wind a few times before slamming shut. The lights return to their normal functioning. _“System is armed,”_ the alarm system announces as it resets with a quiet beep to guard an empty house.


	2. She Studies Evil All The Time

You tame a wild strand of hair and knock on the door. The sound reverberates through the wood and the chilled bones of your hand. It’s an unusually chilly day for it to be barely September. You force yourself to stop shivering just as a man, the husband of the victim, appears in the doorframe. A wave of heat from inside rushes out to meet you, and you wiggle your fingers in anticipation of being somewhere warm. The last few hours of  im patiently waiting in your car for him to return to his home weren’t too kind to your body.

“Hello,” you greet warmly. “I’m Delilah Greene. I’m with Crossroads Psychiatry.” You press a business card into his hand. It’s a nice card; you even paid extra for the fancy metallic letters. It's complete with your most current phony name, address, and the phone number you were using for the time being. You've always been good with fake IDs of any sort.

You’ve been in town for a few days now, here to handle a case. A man’s wife had gone missing with the 'official' report being one of kidnapping. The police assumed that someone had simply broken in the home. Sure, there was a possibility that this happened, but between the alarm system not tripping and the “thick, black substance” found all over the scene, you’re pretty much set on it being a ghost of some sort.

Ghost cases were sorta your specialty. What kind of medium would you be if you didn’t put the gift to good use? While you may not have been Dr. Delilah Greene of Crossroads Psychiatry, you were a psychiatrist all the same. Taking cases like this was more of a…freelance situation. The whole psychic thing helped out a lot in your full-time profession, though.

You continue your introduction, “I’m a consultant with the police department here and I thought I’d stop by and offer some support…” The man eyes the card and then your face too, just as carefully. “Wanted to check up on Ellie again as well, if that’s okay.” A glitter of recognition crosses his face and he snaps his free hand. 

“Oh, yeah, yes. I met you at the police station, right?” You’ve met him once before briefly, down at the police station when you first arrived in town. The majority of your conversations have been with the couple’s daughter, Ellie. It was always easier to get the truth from children when it came to these things; adults left out a lot sometimes. “I’m Harry,” he introduces himself anyway.

“Yes.” 

“Come in, come in.” You enter and allow him to lead you through his home. Its walls are sparsely decorated. There’s a few framed paintings, a small family photo, and in the corner of the hall a small table with a vase of flowers on it. The wallpaper is a muted shade of mustard. “Want a cup of coffee, tea, or somethin’?” Harry asks once you reach the kitchen.

“Coffee, please. Just sugar.”

“I’ll get that for you…You can head right through there to the next room. Ellie’ll be in there soon.” 

“Alright.” You continue on through the house and enter the living room, caught off guard by the presence of two suit-clad men. Both are a bit too tall, facing the wall and engaged in a conversation that, from your current position, sounds quite heated. They don’t hear you enter so you keep quiet to eavesdrop. A soft, seemingly familiar beeping accompanies the conversation.

“…you think we should check downstairs?”

“Seems like they’d be upstairs.” Some more murmuring that you can’t make out. “…it happened, that’s where they found it.” You squint. Found what, you wonder. There’s no body (for the time being anyway).

“Well, it was down on the staircase too.” Ah, the ectoplasm. Whoever it was that attacked Sylvia had dragged her down the stairs and left a long trail of ectoplasm in its place upon manifestation. 

“Harry didn’t mention he had company,” you finally break your silence. Shoulders soar upwards and shoes squeak as they spin to face you in surprise. The two engage in some awkward fidgeting, hands slipping into pockets or pulling at jackets. Finally, someone speaks.

“Uh, I’m Agent Richards, this is Agent Wood,” the taller of the duo says.

“And you guys are…?” Your eyes narrow as you await an answer.

“FBI,” Richards replies. 

“Didn’t know you guys handled adult missing persons case?” Maybe they were real, but it seemed more likely they were like you—spectacular liars. “Aren’t there, like, gangs you should be handling? Big stuff like that?” You’d had a couple run-ins with hunters during your various cases, so it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary. For whatever reason, they always seemed to take on the FBI agent persona. 

If the police report had caught your eye, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume it had stuck out to someone else. If you weren’t so sure of their lack of legitimacy, you would’ve diverted a bit of brain power to determining if the duo were lying. Yet again, you wished you had the ability to read minds like every other psychic you knew.

“We think it might’ve crossed state lines, so that makes it our business. Help out with major crimes too.” You offer a hum. The other, Wood, takes over now. 

“Harry mentioned Sylvia’s sister would be over, that wouldn’t be you by any chance?”

“I’m Delilah,” you answer, carefully avoiding his question. Maybe you’ll get a better answer if they think you’re part of the family. “What’s that?” You extend a finger towards the still beeping device in the so-called Agent Richards’ hand. You’re fairly certain, despite not having the best viewpoint, that the thing is an EMF reader. 

“Uh, carbon monoxide detector.”

“I know CO can, you know, cause hallucinations and all that…So I did have the monitors checked and they were fine.” This part isn’t a lie. Obviously, you dealt with a lot of ghosts, but you also got your fair share of ghost ‘sightings’ related to issues that leaned more on the side of medical issues. The house had a few monitors and all of the levels had been normal.

“Just like to double check,” he says with a small smile. He seems to take notice of the waves of shivers that rack your frame every few seconds, despite your best attempts to hide them. “Cold?” He lifts an eyebrow.

“I have this thing,” you say simply. “Get cold easily…” You’re well aware that the heat is blasting all throughout the home. You could see your breath outside, but an exhale here produces no visible evidence.

You ignore the unending chilliness because it’s standard fare for you. Homes, stores, and just about anywhere else were often too cold for you. It was rare you found anywhere _not_ cold; unlike everyone else, you're constantly aware of any…non-human presences. From the minute you walked in, a feeling of dread had made itself at home in your stomach. You’re quite sure the woman is dead, but until a body or a spirit even, is found, you won’t speak the event into existence. 

When you finally snap out of your reverie, Agent Richards is staring at you. A trace of concern flickers in his eyes. You’re surprised you can see them through the chocolate strands of hair framing his face. “Delilah?”

“Uh, sorry. Just thinking…” 

“Actually, could we ask you a few questions as well?” Wood takes a few long strides to reach you near the doorframe. He hovers over you for a moment and you give a shrug.

“Why not…”

“You notice anything weird when you visit?”

“Weird?” you repeat. He tilts his head slightly, in an action that you assume was meant to be comforting. It's not.

“Uh, yeah, like cold spots? Electrical problems? Just anything out of the ordinary.” 

“Well, nothing other than these questions,” you reply. Yes, definitely hunters. 

“They’re pretty routine…” Scratch what you had said earlier, not spectacular liars, just half-decent ones.

“For hunters, maybe?” you say, voice lowering a bit. There’s a slight lull in the conversation as the room’s inhabitants ponder your words. It’s enough to make you doubt yourself momentarily. After all, you’re human and you make mistakes too. Part of your brain begins working on a cover story in case the answer is no. You devise something vague about deer hunting this time of year. Thankfully, you don’t have to think too hard because Wood offers you a quick nod.

“You actually Sylvia’s sister?” Wood returns, lips curling into a frown. 

“I’m—”

“Dr. Greene! I’m sorry it took so long.” Harry enters the room. He moves like a ball of frantic energy, cup of coffee in hand. You’re surprised it doesn’t spill over and burn the both of you. You manage to slip it from his hands without any harm. 

“Delilah,” you correct, “Thank you…”

“Agents, this is Dr. Greene, she’s a psychiatrist with the police department. Dr. Greene, this is Agent Richards and Agent Wood.”

“Nice to meet you both,” you offer politely.

“You too…”

“Ellie hasn’t made it down yet?” Harry asks, completely unaware of the sudden shift in the mood of the room. “Let me go up and see what she's doin'…” Then he leaves the room again, stairs creaking beneath his feet. Once he’s gone, the conversation begins anew. 


	3. I See Dead People...

You, the men you’d momentarily known as Agents Richards and Wood, and Ellie Robinson all sit in the latter’s room. You had engaged in some very quick introductions before being called up here by Harry. As expected, the duo’s names were as fake as their FBI badges. Their actual names were Sam and Dean Winchester, they had told you. As much as you appreciated the gesture, you were still reluctant to share your own real name. They were given your usual alias—Aria Reynolds. Maybe it was simple superstition, but you’d always been told about the power of a name.   
In your own experience, most of the tales your mother raised you on had turned out to be correct in some way. Until it was proven otherwise, your true name would remain a well-kept secret.  
“Dr. Delia,” Ellie calls you, tugging at your sleeve. “Are you listening?” Sam had opted to question Harry downstairs while you and Dean spoke with Ellie. Plastic creaks as Dean shifts around in the far too small, child-sized chair he had insisted upon squeezing himself into. It made Ellie laugh, so you hadn’t said anything. Nonetheless, you don’t understand how it’s still standing.  
“Of course, Ellie,” you tell her with a warm smile. Her dimples make an appearance as she returns the grin. “You were telling us about the goo you saw…”  
“I was," she confirms. “I saw it again.” More creaky plastic. Dean gives a sheepish grin before finally settling.  
“You did?” You fail to receive an answer this time around. The freckle-faced child walks her doll towards you and you point a finger at it, changing tactics. “That’s a pretty outfit!”  
“Momma’s friend made it for me. She’s going to a ball!” The doll is clad in a gold trimmed, princess style dress. It’s much nicer than the standard doll clothing you were used to seeing.  
“Would this friend be Anne?” Anne was a family friend of the Robinson’s who, up until speaking with the Winchesters, you were gleefully unaware was a witch. You hadn’t taken the time to bother the woman because it didn’t seem like she was involved. Maybe that was a mistake.  
Ellie nods and brushes a few locks of hair from her face. She gazes at the floor for a moment and a sympathetic smile creeps its way onto your face. “It’s okay,” you tell her softly. A wave of sadness passes through you briefly, followed by one of fear. They dissipate almost as quickly as they come and you return to your previous state of being. You know immediately that the emotions don’t belong to you, but to Ellie. “Something happen with Anne?”  
“No…”  
“You remember what I told you about anything we talk about? That it’s secret, between you and me?” A moment passes before she nods. “Only time I’ll tell anybody else is if I think ma-aybe someone might be in trouble.”  
“Dr. Delia, it’s not you,” she explains, staring pointedly at Dean.  
“He won’t tell either.” Dean brings a finger to his lips and this action somehow convinces Ellie to continue.  
“Auntie Anne was, um, she took me to get some toys and I…saw the goop in the car. All over the window.”  
“Were you cold again? Like before?” She nods.  
“When was this?” Dean cuts in a bit too forcefully. Ellie frowns and he squats beside her with a grin. “Ah, I’m sorry, kiddo, I get excited sometimes to do my job.” Ellie accepts this answer and replies.  
“Wednesday!”  
“That’s right,” you chime in, taking over the conversation again, “for your birthday.”  
“You remembered my birthday?” Ellie questions.  
“I’ve got a really good memory.” She grins again. “So, Anne took you out for your birthday and you saw it in the car. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me? I’ll be back soon, but I have to go for now.” She looks thoughtful.  
“I thought maybe I saw someone, but my daddy says I was just tired.” Ellie pauses, “I was sleepy, but not dreaming.” Her tone shifts to one unusually stern for the timid child you’d gotten used to speaking with. “I know what dreams look like, Dr. Delia.”  
“Of course you do,” you say. “I believe you, Ellie.”  
“It was a lady with hair like mine.” Ellie sets a hand on her own curly head of red hair.  
“Okay. Well, thank you, Ellie, you did a great job.” Ellie gives a wide smile, and her eyes drift towards your bag sitting in the chair behind you. It’s clear she’s anticipating the usual candy you offer at the end of any meeting. “Can you hand me my purse, Dean?” He does as you ask and you dig through it to find some sort of sugary reward for Ellie. She’s satisfied with a small lollipop and you and Dean leave.  
“So, everything’s coming up witch,” Dean says quietly as you make your way back downstairs. The two of you stop near the staircase and hover in the hallway.  
“You think Anne caused this?” It doesn’t quite make sense to you that she would’ve organized her friend’s murder. Things happened, sure, but this all seemed a little out there. You’d done a bit of research on Anne and she and Sylvia had been friends for a while. This seemed a bit sudden.  
“I know you didn’t talk to her yet, but Sam and I did. Her answers were more than a little sketchy.”   
“I just feel like if I were close to the family like Anne is, I wouldn’t waste my time putting together some kind of binding spell to have a ghost kill someone. Seems like a lotta work when a hundred other spells could do the trick.” You lift your shoulders. “Maybe the ghost just came after her too.”  
“Maybe,” he replies simply. “But I think Anne found a ghost and had it do her dirty work.”   
“I don’t think that’s right,” you reply, equally as blunt. Dean squints at you.  
“Even if it’s not, we still gotta talk to her again,” he says finally.  
“That’s fair.” You tilt your head toward the far end of the hallway. “I’m gonna go look around. See if I can find anything weird.”  
“We’ll be downstairs, so try not to take too long.” You nod and take off on your mission.

You’d made it through the majority of the upstairs without finding anything too interesting. There was a nice collection of records that caught your eye in the guest room, but nothing related to Sylvia or her disappearance. You keep searching through the couple’s room. Everything is white or cream, down to the carpet. There’s a large dresser along the wall nearest the door that you had made your first target. Doesn’t seem to have any answers, though.  
Tucked beneath a bright blue scarf, you notice a decently sized square lump. At first you falter—after all, people keep all types of weird things in their dressers—so you close it and continue examining the rest of the room. Your conscience is already nagging you for snooping through a missing woman’s home and belongings. There’s no need to add anything else. Something tells you to check it out anyway, and you’re on your way back to the dresser when you hear someone clear their throat.  
You freeze. “Find anything interesting?” It’s Harry. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms, lips pursed as he awaits your response.  
“Oh, no, sorry. Went looking for the restroom and got a bit lost.” You offer an apologetic smile and point a hand across the room at the painting. It’s the holder of the only instance of any colour in the room and takes up the vast majority of the far wall. Quite frankly, you aren’t sure what it’s meant to depict. The thing looks more like messy splatters of yellow, cobalt, and emerald than anything recognizable. It’s the type of painting you’d find hanging in some sort of abstract art gallery. “Then distracted. Where’d you get that?”   
Harry seems to forget your snooping almost immediately and walks over to stand in front of the framed painting. The way he leans his weight to one side and props a hand under his chin reminds you vaguely of a tourist in an art gallery. “Oh…Sylvia painted it for me.”  
You use this distraction to blindly dig a hand back into the dresser. “She did?”  
“Yes…Anniversary present.” Harry continues examining the painting as if this was the first time he’d seen it. Your fingers brush against smooth fabric and you grab it. Harry’s still busy with the painting, so you hastily stuff it into your jacket pocket. Maybe it had something to do with all of this. You could figure out what it was exactly when you got outside.  
“Oh, wow…” He finally turns around, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. You promptly drop your act and cross the room to meet him. “Hey,” you say, patting his shoulder a few times, “it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna find her.” Harry nods, but it isn’t hard to see that he doesn’t quite believe your words. Maybe you don’t either.


	4. ...All The Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of the last chapter. I had to split it up because it started to run a little long.

“What was that you were saying earlier?” Dean asks you. After leaving their home, you’d promptly shown your newfound companions what you had found in the upstairs dresser. The three of you were huddled near the hood of your car. “‘I don’t think that’s right?’” You frown, partly because you were wrong, but mostly because Dean’s impression of you is a bit too accurate. You reach a hand out and gently push his hand from his hip, and he smirks.

“It might not be anything bad,” Sam chimes in.

“It’s a hex bag,” Dean retorts, eyes settling on the aforementioned item in his palm.

“If Anne’s close with the family, could just be some sort of protective thing.” You nod at this. You have similar things strewn about your home. They tended to work a hell of a lot better than circling everything in salt and kept you from looking like _too_ much of a freak, to boot.

“Actually, I think that might be right…”

“Of course you do now.” You ignore this remark and continue speaking.

“I’m psychic, but when I’m in that house things just…don’t work.” It was as if whoever had gifted the abilities to you had simply decided to flick the switch to the ‘off’ position. Every now and then, you’d get something, but it was always scrambled and broken, like your mind was a phone with poor service. “I thought it was just that the house was empty at first, but now I’m wondering if it has something to do with that thing.”

“Psychic? Didn’t mention that during introductions…”

“I don’t know, I didn’t think it was important.” Sam’s eyes narrow at you too as he shakes his head a few times. It hadn’t (and still doesn’t, for that matter) seemed important because you couldn’t do anything with it anyway for the moment.

If this were any other job, it would’ve taken a fingertip or two of ectoplasm for you to get a decent idea of what had happened, or at least where Sylvia was. “I’m not like, you know, mind-reading, ‘I just got a vision’ psychic.” You wiggle your fingers near your head dramatically. “I don’t see the future, I just…” Your next words are murmured grudgingly, because you know what the response will be, “I just see dead people.” As expected, Dean snorts immediately.

“Okay, Haley Joel, well, that definitely would’ve been nice to know while we were inside.”

“ _Sixth Sense_ jokes are only funny when I make them,” you tell him. “But anyway, it doesn’t matter because I can’t do anything in the house.”

“Dean said Ellie saw something in their friend’s car?”

“Mm.”

“How does, you know”—Sam circles around his head with a hand—“that work? We have a few friends who can get information by touch, could you do something like that?”

“Yeah, that’s doable…Just not in that house.” You shift your attention a bit down the road to the Robinson’s townhome.

“Well, then we go visit Anne and get Aria a look at the car. See if you can find anything there.”

“That’s fine…Just not right now. Whatever it is, it’s bouncing around and leaving ectoplasm everywhere, so it’s probably pretty strong. I need a day or two to put together something extra to keep me from turning into a ghost’s meat puppet.” An unfortunate side effect of this whole medium business was that you were prone to being taken for ghostly joyrides by unhappy spirits. You’d prepared for that possibility already, but you would rather err on the safe side and be too protected.

“Course,” Sam says with a nod. “You have our numbers now, so just give us a call when you’re ready.”

“Okay. I’ll see you two soon, then.” You wait for them to walk off down the street before you settle back into your car. You’ve been here a week already and the next few days were bound to be just as draining. Heaving a sigh, you start your trip back to your hotel. The radio plays quietly to accompany you on the journey.

 

The drive is uneventful aside from a short food stop at a Five Guys on the way in. The walk up to your room is, too, uneventful. You pull your jacket off and toss it on the chair in the corner of the room. Your laptop is on the desk where you left it, surrounded by scribbled on papers and notes. In addition to the Robinson case, you’re currently researching various things for other friends. For a reason unknown to you, in the last month or so it seemed like your caseload had doubled. You choose to ignore those items for the time being and instead tend to shoving as many fries as possible in your mouth before they grow cold. 

Once you finish, you decide to run another search for any sign of Sylvia’s body in the near vicinity. Coming up with nothing, you grab your phone to check the texts that have been piling up on your phone. There are a few requests for information from various hunters you’ve stumbled upon, a reminder from your secretary Bailey about some appointments you have to attend to next week, and a number of texts from one of your best friends. There’s so many there that you opt to simply call her. 

“Lizzy?” you greet once the phone clicks over. “What’s up?”

“About time you called me back,” her voice replies. Her breathing is labored so you lift an eyebrow. Elisabeth’s been a friend for as long as you could remember. You were next-door neighbors when you were children. The two of you had hit it off over a neighborhood game of kickball that had ended with a broken window. You’d been friends ever since.

“I’m on a case, remember? You’re running or something?”

“Just moving things,” Elisabeth says. “Did you happen to read anything I sent today?”

“No, I just got home…What’s up?” 

“Well, while you were out playing Ghost Whisperer, the birds have been acting…weird.”

“Weird?” You ignore her sarcasm, because yes, you should’ve replied to her earlier.

“Attacking people, slamming into windows. Omen-y stuff.” Something falls on the other end of the receiver. “And the wolves, or, or some sort of animals, won’t stop howling. It’s been hours.”

“Okay, well that does sound weird.” Lizzy snorts at the casual tone of your voice. You move over to the bed in the middle of the room and collapse atop it to stare up at the ceiling. “Do you think you can look into it without me?” You run a hand over your face. You know she’ll say yes, but you dislike sending her off to do things alone.

“I _do_ have other friends, ya know?” she quips with a chuckle. “You only handle ghosts anyway, ‘member? So I called up the usual crew and I’ll keep you updated.” 

“…Ok.” Her words come out jokingly, but you briefly wonder if Lizzy isn’t a bit upset with you for choosing only to accept specific cases. Physical monsters were out of your jurisdiction, barring maybe a revenant or two. You weren’t a hunter, just a helpful medium. 

Lizzy, on the other hand, was in it for the long haul. She’d pass most of the ghost related things to you to handle, while she and a few others took everything else. That was just the way things had been. If you were being truthful, you hadn’t even wanted to have any part in the whole monster hunting deal. Your mother had a gift too, yet she had managed to live a relatively normal life once you and your sister came along.

“Y/n,” she calls. “Hello?” She sighs, “Did you fall asleep again?” 

“No, still here. But, now that you mention it, I’m sorta sleepy.” You roll over onto your stomach and drag a hand along the soft fabric of the comforter. It’s getting late after all, and you’d been up since the literal crack of dawn. “Give me a call tomorrow and let me know what’s going on. I probably won’t be back in Colorado for another few days.”

“We got it covered, so don’t worry too much. I’ll let you go.”

“Bye!”

“Talk later.” The phone clicks as she hangs up and you toss your phone, letting it join your jacket a few feet away. For now, it’s time to sleep. You can deal with real life in the morning.

 





	5. Two Hunters and a Shrink

The trip to the witch Anne Garcia’s home had been delayed for rather unfortunate reasons. The body of Sylvia Robinson had been located out in a nearby nature park by a trio of unfortunate hikers. As such, you’d postponed the trip by several days, hoping not to add to the burden. It can’t wait forever though, so you currently stand outside of her house.

She lives only a couple of blocks away from the hotel at which you’re staying. Because of that you had simply walked, and because it was chilly out again you would probably later insist that Dean give you a ride home in that fancy car of his. You spoke with Lizzy briefly yesterday in search of an update on the animals.

Other than some similar reports in neighboring cities, nothing new had developed. One could only assume everything was all right, or whichever form of all right that included a barrage of birds and a pack of howling hounds. You absentmindedly fiddle with the silver charms hanging from your bracelet as you wait for Anne to open the door. “A friend of mine called a few days ago,” you begin, deciding you may as well see if they knew anything. “She said something about some weird bird attacks and howling dogs all over town. Either of you hear about anything like that recently?”

“Got a similar call yesterday, actually. In Wichita, right?”

“Wichita?” You hadn’t heard about that one just yet.

“Yeah? Where are you talking about?”

“Uh, it’s where I live, it’s just outside of Denver. A few other places around there, as well.” The brothers share a look that you can’t decipher. One that involves a lot of squinting, deeply wrinkled foreheads, and twitching jawlines. A cloud of worry overtakes you and you match their expressions with a frown. “You know something?” Dean’s face stretches into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Nah, just a little surprised to hear it’s going on in Colorado.”

“I know I said I don’t read minds, but I  _can_  tell when you’re lying,” you say. It’s not the sudden shift in mood that convinces you, but the forced tightness of his face. The smile deteriorates just as quickly as it formed. You’re forced not to press him for answers at the moment because the door creaks open.

Anne’s hand disappears into the wild black curls that frame her face and she fluffs her hair a few times. Her eyes are ringed by a lack of sleep and her skin was tinted an ashen gray. Her appearance makes you soften. Anne and everyone else involved in this case, for that matter, had been through a lot.

“You guys again?” You give Anne a polite wave anyway, despite her obvious annoyance. “I already answered all your questions. We found Syl.” The woman moves to shut the door, but Sam slips a foot in the doorframe.

“Anne, we just want to ask a few more questions,” he begins. He produces what’s left of the bag they had found days prior. “Found this at the Robinson’s, thought you might have something to do with it?” Fearful that Anne might mistake this as a threat, you interrupt, and as the least physically threatening take over the makeshift welcoming committee. Not that Sam is frightening or anything, but he did have at least a solid foot of height over Anne. The scene looked like something out of  _The Shining_ , and if you had been in her position, you were 98% certain you’d kick him in the knee and run off.

“We want to help you.” You squeeze around Sam as best you could. “I know that Sylvia was found, but we’d like to find what did this to her.”

“Yeah, well, no offense or anything, but I make it a habit not to invite hunters in for tea.”

“I’m not a hunter,” you say, almost out of habit. 

With a roll of her darkly lined eyes, Anne repeats herself. “Fine, I make it a habit not to invite two hunters and a shrink in for tea.”

“I’m a psychic, uh, a medium, Anne. I know that you’re still worried about that ghost you saw in your car—that you’re wondering who it was **.** ” The last bit is an educated guess, but her eyes widen ever so slightly and you know you’re spot-on. “I just want to ask a few things, maybe get a look at your car so we can figure out what’s going on. I understand things are a bit hectic, but it shouldn’t take long—”

“Come in,” she cuts you off. Anne backs away from the door and the group of you enter. The smell of lavender and smoke floods your nostrils. “I put that”—she points at the bag in Sam’s hand—“in Syl’s house to try to keep  _things_  out. I worry about Ellie.”

“Seems like it worked.” Sam gives her a warm smile. You turn away, more interested in getting an idea of the woman’s home. There are a number of leafy green plants hanging in tiny pots from her ceiling. A notably large pile of white, yellow, and pink envelopes sat on the granite countertop that marked the space where the living room ended and the kitchen began. It’s a pretty nice place. “Could we ask a few questions about what you saw in the car?” Anne waves a hand over the seating in the room and you take it as an invitation to plop down in the nearest recliner. There’s a glass coffee table situated in the middle of the room, topped off by a purple vase of wilting flowers and a few scattered copies of  _People_  magazine.

“I only saw it for a second. Out the corner of my eye, really.”

“And you weren’t sure who it was?” She answers Dean’s question but keeps her gaze fixed on you.

“They were just like a, uh, shadow. No features or anything.”

“I’m gonna go look at the car, if that’s ok?”

“Garage is through that way.” Anne points towards a door in the kitchen. You excuse yourself with a nod and head outside. The car is cleaned up as expected, but you climb into the backseat anyway. You pull the door shut and sit, fingertips running across the nylon upholstery.

The windows are down, presumably to air out the car, but the leftover scent of cleaning supplies stings your nose anyway. You don’t feel anything out of the ordinary (also as expected). Still, you think, won’t hurt to try and see if you get lucky. You flatten your hand and press a bit harder, willing the universe to cooperate with you and pop a memory or two into your brain.

A few seconds turn into dozens and then those quickly turn into minutes, and eventually, you opt to head back inside empty-handed. “Every ghost in existence can seek me out, but I can’t get a hint or two when I need it?” You push the car door open and climb out. You stretch a hand out to close the door but stop to shoot a glare towards the ceiling. “Thanks for that.”

As if to shut you up and sit you down, your vision falters and the world takes on its usual sepia tint. Maybe you should sass the universe more often.  _“All ready Ellie?”_ You turn your attention to the car at the sound of Anne’s voice. Ellie’s in the backseat playing with a toy you can’t identify. She starts to say something, but her words descend into wary whimpers. You know it happened in the past, but the sound still upsets you. Anne turns in her seat, spots the ghost, and promptly loses her composure.

You tune out the commotion and focus on the…non-living intruder. Crimson hair like Ellie had told you. Her nose is sharp and straight and she looks like she walked straight out of an old pin-up poster. Her clothing is rather plain, aside from a large, gold circle shining at her chest. The woman happens to turn her head in your direction and you catch a glimpse of her face. The only other things you really manage to take in are the pristine straight lines of her eyebrows. Your luck finally runs out and the sight flashes from existence.

“Well, that worked,” you murmur. You lock the car back up and head into the house.

“Get anything?” Anne asks when you enter the room. They’re still right where you left them. Sam’s writing something down in a notebook you can’t read from where you stand.

“I got a face,” you announce.


End file.
